


Momentum

by iseoks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco has cold feet, Fluff, HP: EWE, M/M, Oneshot, Post Deathly Hallows really, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Wedding, as fluffy as it gets tbh, idk how many years later tho but probably not that many, mother-son bonding, pure fluff, the first non explicit fic i've written in a while lmao don't get used to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 09:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12724158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iseoks/pseuds/iseoks
Summary: Narcissa has seen every side of her beloved son. Certainly more than he’d ever intended to show her.





	Momentum

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally posted on tumblr, but I figured I'd post it here since I haven't posted any content in a while ,,, be on the lookout for more Drarry from me, kids. ♡

A gloved hand barely curls to a fist; the intent to knock and make her presence known to the room’s inhabitant apparent, but a dormant hesitation prompts that dutiful instrument to flatten against the painted wood of the doorframe. Without even so much as opening the door, she can feel her son’s troubled aura from where she stands opposite the threshold, and her motherly intuition is validated by the quick pacing audible across the finished flooring. An aware smile blooms in the light of knowledge, Narcissa’s gracefully aged features maintaining a distinct shadow of her youth’s beauty, especially with the glowing maternity of her current countenance.

“Draco, dear,” she calls, and immediately she hears the pacing stop abruptly; as though her voice had instead uttered an immobility charm. The red colour adorning smiling lips emphasizes the widening seam as a beaming row of pearly teeth peek through with the woman’s amusement. She eventually figures she’ll finish her thought before Draco has a silent conniption.

“You’re going to be late. All the guests are waiting on you, love.”

No sound comes from the room’s interior. She can almost see the worried lines etched into her son’s handsome face, though the door continues to provide a visual barrier between them. Still, the matriarch can be near certain of the nervous, nearly frightened shade of Draco’s countenance, as she’s seen it many times before. Especially in relation to a certain man among those in eager patience of the Malfoy heir’s appearance - the man most eagerly patient, in fact.

Narcissa has seen every side of her beloved son. Certainly more than he’d ever intended to show her.

“Draco?”

“Yeah,” he answers too quickly, and too simply. The weight of his tone bears nerve, and reluctance.

Narcissa’s smile remains, but saddens in presentation. Her brows cast lower like heavy rainclouds, and her eyes sag wearily. It was almost as though her progeny’s emotion had been verbally transmitted to her - which is why she hesitates not one moment more in curling dainty, yet lengthy fingers around the glass knob and twisting rightward.

Draco doesn’t seem opposed to this sudden entry - in fact, he appears to not even notice it at first, despite the wall’s worth of a mirror before him. He had always had a habit of pretending not to notice certain things, however; and Narcissa knows well of this tendency, especially when Draco was nervous or intimidated - namely by his father. Yet, beyond his contempt expression, Draco looks stunning.

Every piece of fabric to his suit is of some hue of ebony - some lighter than others to create shape and contrast in the sharp, elegant details of the hand-tailored, custom-made garment. Upon his neck and shoulders, in the absence of a typical tie, sits a gorgeous neckpiece - complete with silver threading and onyx and deep jade crystals arranged in a weblike pattern. The necklace is roofed by a simply embroidered collar, reprising the designs visible at the end of the shirt’s sleeves which barely peek past those of the blazer, and corresponds with the jewels embedded within pierced ears. His hair, which had gone through several phases of grown long and cut short, sits stylishly atop his head in a crisp undercut, discretely clipped and sprayed in certain areas to hold its shape through the events to come.

He really looks breathtaking. His already-charming features had been polished with a bit of makeup - nothing beyond a skin-smoothing foundation and a bit of pale red colour to his lips (Draco had always liked to wear lipstain - it had been one of his biggest secrets into adolescence. But now, as his own adult, he seems to care considerably less about whatever opinions surround this decision). Narcissa had always known her child was easy on the eyes, since the day he was born - Merlin, he was a beautiful baby - but now, she finds herself stilled and silent in reverence of his enhanced appearance.

However, she does not allow this aesthetic appreciation to deter her from her concerns. Coming up slowly behind him, she places either hand upon his shoulders, and, courtesy of the heels of her shoes, tilts her head to view her own face behind his shoulder, in the massive mirror.

Grey hues dart stealthily to his mother’s sad, smiling eyes, and something so joyously melancholic pulls his heart halfway up from his stomach.

Of course, Narcissa notices.

“You look absolutely stunning, Draco,” she tells him, willing his eyes to focus on his reflection. When no reply comes, aside from the silent ‘Thanks, Mum,’ in his eyes, the matriarch continues. “Has he seen you, yet?”

“No,” Draco answers, somewhat matter-of-factly. “He has this stupid muggle superstition that it’s bad luck to see me, before the wedding.”

Narcissa smiles, amusement alive in her features. Draco, despite speaking with the utmost fondness, does not.

“This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life. You’ve been meticulously planning this for months, with the people you love most. You could barely keep yourself from beaming all last night, despite your finest efforts,” exhaling, she urges him to turn and face her.

“So why are you sad?”

“I’m not sad, Mum,” Draco murmurs, though he manages to articulate well, “I’m not sad at all. Everything you said is true, it’s still true …” He knows that she knows it is; for that is why she said it. But prior to any chance for interjection, he continues, “I’m just … I don’t know. It’s like my feet are stuck to the floor. As badly as I want to go out there to meet everyone, to meet him … I can’t.”

“You can’t,” she echoes, breaking eye contact for just a moment - for in that short second, it had been too much. She’d nearly forgotten the mirror is adhered to the wall behind them, and not in her son’s eyes. She’d nearly forgotten that she was married more than forty years ago, now.

“Draco,” her eyes return to his, and she smiles brightly, willing her eyes as best she can not to fill with tears. “You’re nervous. You’re afraid. And it’s okay. I was, too, when I was in your position.”

And it’s true. She remembers as if it’s happening right before her eyes, her twenty-year-old self perched nervously at her vanity, terrified of the indelible mark she is about to make on her life. All the sudden doubt, and fear of regret - fear of disappointment, as a double-edged blade. She remembers it all.

“I want this,” Draco clarifies, almost as though he is trying to convince himself, even if his voice sounds as sure as the reverse of his hand. “I’ve wanted this for months. There’s nothing I want more. But … I can’t stop thinking about the way things were. The way I treated him … what if this is a mistake? What if he’s making a mistake?”

“Draco.”

“What if he finds out too late he just can’t deal with me anymore?”

“Draco …”

“What if he realizes that I don’t deserve him, at all?”

“Draco, please. Listen to yourself. Surely these thoughts aren’t new. These are things you’ve thought about before, for years, aren’t they?”

Grey eyes fall once more, his gaze cast to the floor as a one-beat nod ensues.

“After all you’ve been through with Harry, for better and for worse, don’t you think that by now, if he couldn’t handle you, he wouldn’t be waiting for you to meet him at an altar after months of careful planning? And don’t you think that if he thought for a minute he was making a mistake, he’d have left you behind instead of asking you to marry him? Of all the fights you’ve had over just about anything, of all the hurt and betrayal and reconciliation and building, don’t you think he wouldn’t have put so much energy into that if he didn’t want it for the rest of his life?”

Draco is silent. His eyes have lifted, however, to look at his mother as she speaks. The silvery hues glitter with tears, yet the heir is careful not to let them fall past the dams of his lower lids. His lips press together to keep from pursing and quivering with emotion, though eventually he does exhale a shaky breath past his nostrils, accompanied by a helpless hum in his throat.

“Forget about your father’s opinion. Forget about the strife of the past, and forget about your own self doubt. Your future is waiting for you, right now, in our courtyard. Go and get it, Draco. The rest of your life is starting tonight.”

Nearly choking on a runaway sob, the man surges forward, wrapping his arms around his mother, burying his face in her shoulder. Narcissa stands, shocked - for Draco hadn’t hugged her that way since he was a little boy. He had always been fussy. As a baby, a young boy - even in the weeks leading up to this momentous day, perhaps especially then.

Allowing her eyes to close, she smiles into her son’s shoulder and rubs along his back, a short, satisfied breath leaving her nostrils.

“I’m proud of you, love. Now, hurry - go make Potter my son-in-law.”

**Author's Note:**

> please review and send me anon h8 on tumblr @malfoid!!


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